He watches another battle being fought behind her eyelids, watches her lashes flutter and her skin twitch. For a moment Asterion wonders if he ought to wake her, but he pushes down the impulse. It is not for him to try and save her from what might be passing through her sleeping mind; besides, he knows the warrior needs her rest.
It feels strange to keep his gaze on her like this, like a breach of the relationship between them, and eventually Asterion turns away. His gaze wanders the room, all the other wounded and sick, and he wonders how long, and how much more, and how high the cost will be in the end. Not to mention the scars that would inevitably follow such a thing.
Her gasp pulls him from his thoughts, and the bay stallion turns at once, his heartbeat skipping into a faster, fearful thing. But it eases at once when she speaks, and though there is still a furrow in his brow the look in his eyes is only relief.
“Asterion is fine,” he says, wry and not quite smiling, though he imagines this is not the last time she will call him sir. “How do you feel?”
@
if you'll be my star*
